


Fairy Tales

by PinkRangerV



Category: Power Rangers Dino Thunder
Genre: Body Horror, Fairy Tales, Gothic, Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 10:19:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3725212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkRangerV/pseuds/PinkRangerV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a ghost in Trent's bedroom. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fairy Tales

**Author's Note:**

> So I've been inspired by the gothic genre lately...

It was good to branch out, wasn’t it?

                Trent felt as if the muses had descended and seized his hands. The superheroes, drawn in fine lines and perfect colors and careful detail, were gone. Now he rubbed color straight onto the page, as if he were fingerpainting; dark charcoal and occasional deep hues, mixed chalk and charcoal that he mixed right there on the paper, flew onto his notebook’s pages.

                A hallway. A room with a glass door, glass walls. Strange, shadowy shapes that made no sense but felt like exactly what they should be. He wasn’t ‘just’ drawing superheroes anymore, and that was a good thing. Every artist should branch out.

                Trent finished his latest drawing and stared at it.

                It was a bright, sunny day. He was sitting in the Cyberspace to get away from his father, and his fingers were stained white with chalk.

                And he had just drawn the silhouette of himself sleeping.

                But it was good to branch out. Right?

 

*             *             *

 

This time, Trent stayed awake long enough to see the ghost walk through his wall.

                It blinked at him.

                “You know, I’m a Power Ranger. Ghosts are not that high on my ‘weird’ list.” Trent pointed out. He was sitting on his bed, reading a book. He’d thought about drawing, but he wasn’t in the mood for more mysterious, otherworldly compulsions. “So why are you trying to get me to draw things for you?”

                The ghost said nothing.

                Trent considered the ghost. It wasn’t hard to see him, just hard to keep an image in his head of what he looked like. The details kept…slipping away. Humanoid and male were the best Trent could come up with. Or male-ish. Did ghosts even have genders?

                Trent’s notebook flew into the air.

                The ghost didn’t touch it, but the pages opened anyway. The image of Trent sleeping. The hallway. The shapes. The glass room. Again, in the same pattern. Then a third time.

                “You’re showing me this when I’m asleep?” Trent guessed.

                The ghost nodded and let the notebook fall. It hit the ground with a clatter that made Trent wince and hope his father wasn’t awake.

                Of course, his father hadn’t actually been _home_ for several weeks, so it probably didn’t matter anyway.

                The ghost beckoned.

                Trent considered. He had his morpher with him…the others, Dr. O would absolutely _kill_ him if he went haring off without warning him. Trent lifted his morpher to his mouth. “Dr. O?”

                _“…Trent?”_ Dr. Oliver yawned. _“What is it?”_

                “Uh, there’s a ghost sitting in my bedroom asking me to follow him somewhere. I thought I should probably let you know.”

                A pause.

                _“…A what?”_

                “Ghost.” Trent confirmed nervously. Was Dr. O going to think he’d snapped and gone insane again or something? “Yeah, uh, it’s kind of weird.”

                Dr. Oliver considered that. _“Is your dad there?”_

                …There was no way to answer that well. “He’s, uh, working late.” Trent said, going with the best possible option.

                _“Give me a minute.”_ There were some sounds of rustling, of footsteps, of typing.

                The ghost beckoned again.

                _“I’m going to use Hayley’s new teleporter.”_ Dr. Oliver said. _“I need you here. Hold on a second.”_

                Trent waited obediently.

                The world dissolved in white, then the Lair appeared around him. And a morphed Dr. Oliver swung his BrachioStaff to aim at Trent.

                Trent jumped back, throwing up his hands. “Whoa, whoa, it’s just me!”

                “And I’d like to check that for myself.” Something beeped. Dr. Oliver let out a breath, then demorphed.

                Trent waited. Absolutely no explanation came from Dr. Oliver.

                Another explanation whispered itself to Trent. Trent really didn’t want to believe it. It continued to point out that it matched all the available evidence.

                “Did…” Trent hesitated, but Dr. Oliver was just looking at him, waiting. “Did you think I’d turned evil again?”

                That hurt. That hurt to say, more than Trent would have thought possible. And it was terrifying and confusing and Trent had no idea why he wanted to take that sentence and throw it into a lava pit, because it was a reasonable question, he’d been turned once, why _wouldn’t_ they worry he’d been turned again…

                “Yes.”

                “…Oh.” There was nothing else to say, and everything else, and suddenly Trent felt absolutely horrible. It must have scared the hell out of Dr. Oliver, that thought. “No, I’m fine, I promise.”

                Dr. Oliver smiled. “I know. The computers showed me.” He said nothing else.

                Trent continued to wait until the silence had grown awkward. Then he just sighed and waved half-heartedly, saying, “Okay, bye,” and walking away.

                “Trent.”

                Trent turned.

                That was about the point where he noticed how _toneless_ Dr. Oliver was. And how his expressions never quite reached his eyes.

                “You should come to me if you feel like anything’s wrong, okay?” Dr. Oliver said. No, not quite toneless, that was how Trent had missed it—it was just hollow, like Dr. Oliver was speaking from very far away. “I’m always here for you.”

                Trent nodded and backed away slowly.

                When he hit the stairs he ran for it.

 

 

*             *             *

 

As it turned out, none of the others were particularly interested in hearing Trent’s theories at two in the morning. The politest response was Kira very kindly mistaking Trent’s words for a nightmare and telling him to go back to sleep.

                So Trent went back to his room.

                The ghost was still there. Waiting.

                This time, Trent had come prepared. He laid down the Ouija board and asked directly, “Do you know what’s wrong with Dr. O?”

                _Yes_.

                “Can you tell me?” Trent grabbed a piece of paper to write down the letters with.

                _C-o-m-e-w-i-t-h-m-e._

                Trent gave the ghost a Look. It was not a happy Look. “Look, I’d be glad to, but my teammate comes first, okay?”

                _C-o-m-e-w-i-t-h-m-e._

                Trent let his head fall back against the wall. “If I do, will you tell me what’s going on?”

                _Yes._

                Well, it was something. Trent touched his morpher. He wished for backup, suddenly, very much wished for backup, but he’d survived for months on his own and insane, hadn’t he? This time he’d have his wits about him.

                He followed.

                The ghost politely kept to areas Trent could follow instead of walking through walls. He led straight up to Anton’s study without once floating through anything. It was almost a parody of good manners.

                The ghost stopped and looked at Trent expectantly.

                “If I morph, I’m going to register the second I jump through.” Trent pointed out. On the other hand… “Give me a second.” He said with a grin.

                As it turned out, Trent’s stash of weapons was in exactly the same good condition they’d been in last week, when he’d meticulously cleaned and cared for all of them. He armed himself thoroughly, then came back. “Right, let’s do this.”

                The ghost laughed. It was inaudible, but Trent felt the echos rippling through his mind. It was strange and weird and beautiful, and Trent shivered.

                Then they went through.

 

*             *             *

 

It was just as easy to sneak through Mesegog’s labs as Trent remembered. He was getting sloppy, though; a Tyrannodrone noticed him and tried to attack.

                Trent really hoped he could get a shower before anyone saw the blood.

                Still, they made it to a hallway that felt eerily familiar. Trent realized it was the ghost’s drawing. He glanced around. The glass room was nearby, empty. Trent paused and gestured.

                The ghost nodded, then beckoned.

                Trent followed.

                He knew when he entered the room what the shapes were. They were machines. Things that were a bit like a dentist’s drill; things that were a bit like torture devices; things that were neither but still meant to cause inordinate amounts of pain.

                And in the center, in a chair with straps, Dr. Oliver was unconscious.

                He didn’t look right. His hair was long; he looked younger; he was almost translucent. But it was him. Trent glanced over, but the ghost had vanished.

                Trent stepped forward.

                Dr. Oliver turned his head. Blinked. The translucence was still there, and he whispered, “Turn it off.”

                “What?” Trent asked. “Turn what off?”

                Dr. Oliver looked up.

                The machine didn’t look like it was doing anything, but Trent sprinted over anyways, shutting it off. The quiet whir that had filled the room went silent. Then, as if Trent were watching some sort of strange movie, Dr. Oliver began to grow more… _solid_.

                He grew realer and realer until he was able to open his eyes again. Then he blinked at Trent. “Dr. O.” Trent asked, going over to unstrap him. “Holy…are you okay?”

                “Who…are you?”

                Trent froze.

                The room was nothing; Trent had seen a hundred labs like this one before, although having someone being experimented on, that was new. But for Dr. Oliver to look at him like that, so blank, after they had spent half a year fighting together…after he had seen him, _less than an hour ago_ …

                That was terrifying.

                “Trent.” Trent managed. “Trent Ferdanez. The White Ranger?”

                “ _What_?” Dr. Oliver tried to push himself up and almost collapsed. “A…” He devolved into a coughing fit. “Listen to me. Listen.” He grabbed Trent’s shoulder, stopping Trent from reaching for the last of the straps. “Get out. Leave me, and get out of here. Stop my changeling.”

                “Your…what are you…” Trent shook his head and went back to freeing Dr. Oliver. “No way. We’re getting out together.” Dr. Oliver—whichever one of them was real—would _kill_ him for leaving someone behind. Even if he’d ordered it.

                “Damnit…Ferdanez, _listen to me_ , he’s not going to be far away, you have to get out.” Trent helped Dr. Oliver off the chair, and the older man collapsed onto Trent weakly. “Mesegog, he’s a fairy.”

                “…Either you’re really homophobic, or I’m missing something here.” Trent finally said. They were halfway to the door. Trent’s brain was still processing, but his feet were moving.

                Dr. Oliver almost tripped over something. Trent looked down.

                It was a human body, hidden in the shadows.

                Trent looked around.

                There were a _lot_ of human bodies, hidden in the shadows.

                Dressed badly, with shaggy hair and old clothes, probably homeless people. All of them lay dead in corners. Trent caught a glimpse of one with a hole in its chest.

                “The first fairy tales.” Dr. Oliver whispered. “They were called the Fair Folk. Not…they weren’t beautiful. They were _dangerous_. They were alien and strange but some…some of them were bad, evil, and they got thrown out but it wasn’t…” Dr. Oliver devolved into coughing, and Trent tried to keep him upright. “He made a changeling. Took some wood and gave it my energy. But it’s falling apart. I was able to…” Dr. Oliver nearly fell.

                Trent started moving again. Whatever this was, he needed to get this guy out.

                He almost walked straight into Mesegog.

                Mesegog…hissed. It was probably a happy hiss. Trent didn’t really care. He stepped in front of Dr. Oliver, raising his morpher to his lips.

                Mesegog hissed something that made a shudder of revulsion run through Trent, and Trent’s morpher let out a shower of sparks. Trent swore. Mesegog laughed. “Youaaaare….inmy hhhoome.” Mesegog told him. “Did you reallythink…you would be able to _morph_?”

                “Well, I hoped.” Trent admitted, then rabbit-punched Mesegog in the nose. Or where a nose should have been.

                It worked. Trent was able to grab Dr. Oliver and duck around, half-drag him through the hallways, looking for that damn ghost and wondering if maybe it wasn’t a ghost at all. Trent ran and ran until he felt Dr. Oliver stumble and fall _through_ his arms.

                Trent whirled.

                Mesegog was holding a human heart up. It was still beating. The thumping was inaudible, but the pulsing was easy enough to see, even through Mesegog’s claws. Mesegog squeezed again, and Dr. O screamed in pain.

                “Let him go!” Trent said, trying for bravery. It worked for the others.

                Mesegog just laughed. “I hhhave…alwaysenjoyed hheroesss.” He hissed. “They taste… _delicioussss_.”

                “White. Run.” Dr. Oliver gritted out.

                Trent dropped into a fighting stance. He wasn’t going to win this, he knew that. But he’d damn well make Mesegog bleed while he went down.

                “Now,” Mesegog continued, “I have…asssspare.”

                He lifted the heart to his lips and bit down.

                The scream from Dr. Oliver was unearthly, and as Mesegog tore the bite free, he…died. Trent knew. Trent had no idea how he knew except that he _did_ , what was laying on the ground was only a corpse. It was like someone had punched him in the chest.

                Mesegog laughed and laughed.

                Tyrannodrones swarmed out. Trent drew his gun and started shooting. To hell with Ranger codes, he was not going to die here. A clip only held so many bullets, though. When it ran out, Trent was overpowered.

                Mesegog finished the last of the heart and grinned. It was an unearthly sight. Trent struggled, whether out of fear or defiance he didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. Mesegog issued orders in the same weird tongue as before, walking up to Trent.

                Then he reached down and plunged his claws into Trent’s chest.

                The pain was enough to drive Trent to his knees, whiting out his vision. He heard someone scream. It was probably him. When Trent could look up, he did.

                The White Ranger clone had appeared. Mesegog was hissing in the alien language, and there was some kind of power, some kind of energy that Trent, caught between life and death, could see as a glow between them.

                Then Mesegog shoved the heart into Trent’s clone.

                For a minute nothing happened. Then the world sort of _tilted_ , and he was…fading, or was everything just turning into something else? And the White Ranger clone demorphed.

                He was wearing Trent’s face.

                “Can you…bringthem to me?” Mesegog asked.

                The White Ranger clone nodded. “Easily.”

                “Excelleeeent.” Mesegog hissed. “Ssssooon, the heroessss….willlbe mine.”

                It was strange, Trent thought, how colorful everything had gotten. How there was a bright light, waiting, and he could hear his parents calling…

                His heart pulsed, the light grew stronger, and there was nothing more.

 


End file.
